


La Fruta Prohibida [The Forbidden Fruit]

by notmadderred



Series: Reverse Harem Simmons [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Am I sorry? yeah. i am., Crack Disguised As A Serious Telenovela, Jealousy, M/M, Memeology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24244432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmadderred/pseuds/notmadderred
Summary: Lopez has learned to love, and a fat fucking orange mountain ain't gonna stop him.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Dick Simmons/Lopez
Series: Reverse Harem Simmons [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443322
Comments: 9
Kudos: 34





	La Fruta Prohibida [The Forbidden Fruit]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitsby/gifts).



> Happy RarePair Week
> 
> Another installment to this goddamn reverse harem series. Bits is still, of course, the one to blame for this. She is the one who wanted flowery-in-love Lopez, and I have attempted to replicate a telenovela in fic form to achieve this effect.

It didn’t matter, in the larger scale of things. At least, it shouldn’t have mattered. Not to Lopez, of all robots. He, as he’d been trying to tell himself for weeks now, hated humanity and certainly had no true attachments to anyone of flesh, regardless of whether or not they weren’t _completely_ human. 

But somehow, against all the odds, Simmons was… different.

Lopez will admit to being in the man’s presence even when it was unnecessary, as he always avoided the humans of the base when he could. But no. Instead, he lingered and watched him. Studied him. Became more and more infatuated by him.

He knew it had become a problem when he saw Simmons walking with Caboose, and something hot flew up his pistons, entangling all his thoughts with bitter jealousy that he very briefly mistook for an oil leak.

Lopez immediately turned on his heel and marched into his garage. Seeing Simmons with Grif all the time was one thing, but the fact that he seemed to like the supposed enemy rather than a fellow Red (oh, how low he must be going to stoop to calling himself a fellow Red with these fucking idiots) was insulting.

It was personal.

Lopez sighed and rested his head against the Warthog. Not that he could feel it, but -- and he would never admit it -- the sentiment was there. He couldn’t control the stirrings of his mechanical heart. He wanted to give everything he had to that man, get on a knee and bare himself open, sing with the voice he was unable to have. But those kinds of affections were forbidden. Lopez was, after all, still a robot. And Simmons was more human than not.

But, perhaps… 

Lopez lifted his head and walked to the window, observing as Grif and Simmons reunited.

Perhaps Simmons felt the same way.

Maybe that was why he sought repairs from Caboose rather than Lopez. Simmons couldn’t ask Lopez for help because he was afraid Lopez would see how much he loved him. He was ashamed of his love for a robot, and he was unwilling to confront those feelings.

Lopez lifted his head. Then one of them had to take the first leap. A leap into a cavern of feeling, a place full of lost hearts searching for answers that they may never get.

But this could be worth it. And this could change everything for robotkind.

Lopez would make that leap.

\----

He’d been following Simmons more than usual lately, getting a better feel of his habits and interests.

One thing was certain. Simmons was just out of reach because Grif was acting as a divide, an orange mountain between them. Lopez would have to somehow reach Simmons in a way only Simmons could understand, cross an impossible barrier.

“The fuck is up with you?” Grif asked around a mouthful of chips. This was enough to earn Simmons’ attention as well, whose head snapped up before he looked at Lopez with some degree of bewilderment.

Lopez snarled a quick, monotone, “Vete a la mierda, gordo,” [Fuck you, fatass] and stormed off.

So something that would fly over that dumbass’s head, something only a fellow robot (or part-robot) would understand.

_“The fuck was that about?”_

_“Why the hell would you ask me?”_

_“Uh, ‘cuz you’re the nerd? But whatev--”_

_“Shit! Oh, shit, do you think he--”_

\----

It was harder than Lopez initially thought to come up with something only Simmons could understand.

He was lingering in the kitchen -- somewhere Simmons often was simply because _Grif_ often was -- hoping to get a strike of inspiration from whatever essence Simmons may have left along the counters he so often cleaned.

Footsteps came from behind.

Lopez lifted his head, but he did not look. “Grif,” he said.

“Lopez,” Grif responded. At this moment, Lopez turned to see Grif glaring minutely at him. “¿Qué está haciendo tu culo robo aquí?” [What is your robo-ass doing here?]

“¿Por qué te importa, perezoso mierda?” [What do you care, you lazy fuck?] Lopez lifted his chin at Grif.

“You can’t eat. And you’ve been spying on Simmons. That’s enough to get me interested.”

“Porque te preocupas mucho por Simmons.” [Because you care so much about Simmons.]

“Oye, gilipollas, a diferencia de tu trasero artificial, puedo sentir cosas, así que no me digas cosas así.” [Hey, asshole, unlike your artificial ass, I can feel things, so don't say shit like that to me.] Grif mirrored Lopez’s stance, crossing his own arms. “¿Y qué me importa de él? ¿Qué es para ti?” [And so what that I care about him? What's it to you?]

“Porque Simmons es el único ser en este universo abandonado que me importa. Estúpidos y fatales humanos como tú solo sirven para corromper. Lo usas Ni siquiera lo llamas amigo. Entonces, ¿qué es para mí?” [Because Simmons is the only being in this forsaken universe that matters to me. Stupid and fatass humans like you only serve to corrupt. You use him. You don't even call him friend. So what is it to me?] Lopez took several steps toward Grif. “Es todo. Porque ese hombre posee la llave de mi corazón. Porque lo amo. Algo que tu débil cerebro no puede entender.” [It's everything. Because that man owns the key to my heart. Because I love him. Something your puny brain can't possibly understand.]

Grif’s face underwent a rapid succession of emotions before he settled back on anger, the pale skin grafted to his face flushing bright red. “Do I need to reiterate that you’re a fucking _robot_? What the fuck do you know about lo-- about that?”

“¿Tengo que ser yo quien te diga que Simmons es un cyborg? Eres un idiota de cerebro de mono. No te interpondrás entre nosotros, Grif. Nadie lo hará.” [Do I have to be the one to tell you Simmons is a cyborg? You monkey-brained idiot. You won't stand between us, Grif. Nobody will.]

“Is that-- is that a fucking _threat_? Whatever, asshole. This is a joke.” He relaxed his shoulders and pointedly rolled his eyes. “You’re just a robot, anyway. The hell are you gonna do?”

What, indeed.

Grif scoffed and walked to the fridge. 

Lopez strode out of the kitchen, ignoring the leftover rumblings from the mountain he left behind.

\----

It was time for a more sly method of wooing Simmons.

He thought the idea was rather brilliant, but, of course, he was a robot and thus the intellectual superior to the humans he was unfortunately surrounded by.

Simmons was the only one at the Red base who could read binary. Lopez was inclined to believe that some part of Simmons knew he was truly a robot all this time -- he’d learned binary as human. It was just one step in his evolution to something greater, something Lopez could guide him toward. This was exactly that.

‘Mi querido,

Estoy seguro de que nunca he sentido un amor como este. Algo imposible y al mismo tiempo maravilloso, hermoso en su pura imposibilidad. Algo dentro de ti me ha llegado, y se hace más y más fuerte cada día. Brillas en toda la oscuridad, tu corazón es una luz LED que oculta las estrellas. Quizás me estás guiando. O, tal vez, te estoy guiando.

Una cosa de este poder no puede ser sostenido por uno. Se necesita el poder de los dos, conectados, para ser una fuerza en este vasto universo, para aceptar estos sentimientos tal como son. Debemos unirnos en espíritu, en los hilos románticos de nuestro amor prohibido pero verdadero, y aceptarnos como Nosotros.

Yo te puedo mostrar cómo. Por ti, querido Simmons, haré cualquier cosa.

Con amor,  
Lopez’

[My darling,

I am sure I have never felt a love quite like this. Something impossible and simultaneously wonderful, beautiful in its sheer impossibility. Something within you has reached out to me, and it grows stronger and stronger every day. You shine through all darkness, your heart an LED light blinding out the stars. Perhaps you are guiding me. Or, perhaps, I am guiding you.

A thing of this power cannot be held by one. It takes the power of both of us, connected, to stand as a force in this vast universe, to accept these feelings barefaced as they are. We must conjoin in spirit, in the romantic twines of our forbidden but true love, and accept ourselves as Us. 

I can show you how. For you, dear Simmons, I will do anything.

With love,  
Lopez]

Writing all of it out in binary took several pages, but it was worth it. As was, of course, doing it by hand rather than in a more mechanized fashion. Lopez needed to show how much he meant those words, and that meant never straying from the challenge. He was willing to go that extra mile, to put in that extra effort. Unlike some others.

Now finished, Lopez snuck into Simmons and Grif’s room and placed the note on Simmons’ desk.

There.

He left the room but made sure to keep a close proximity for when Simmons returned. Lopez wanted to be here for this.

\----

“I’m not _saying_ it’s dumb. Which, for the record, I do think that. But what I was saying was that it was unnecessary.”

“You think everything is unnecessary!” Simmons rebutted, shooting Grif a glare. Grif gave him an indifferent look and took a large bite from his burrito. Simmons withheld a wince as a modicum of juice squirted out. Fucking digusting. “And why can’t you just let it go? You let everything go! If it’s so unnecessary, shut up about it!”

Grif gulped massively. There was no goddamn way he’d chewed that through nearly enough. Unbelievable. “Dude, you’re the one who brought up your colored spreadsheets. Not me. And by the way, there is a necessary thing in the world.” He nudged open the door (obviously, he hadn’t locked it like Simmons had asked him to), turned to face Simmons as he walked backwards, and raised his brows pointedly. “Food.”

“You know I didn’t mean necessary by the definition of necessary. I meant it by the definition of convenient and helpful and overall improving life for--”

“Woah, there, Mr. Dictionary. Take a deep breath. This isn’t like you.”

“ _Grif_ , don’t you fucking--”

“Besides, if we’re arguing necessity, I can say that by the same definition, food is still necessary and colored spreadsheets are not. But if you want to argue about the nuances of necessity, I can and will run circles around your ass.”

“Bullshit. You can’t run, period.” Simmons stepped into the room, closed the door, and crossed his arms. “And besides, I was on my high school debate team. There’s no way you--”

“Harvard.”

“Oh, seriously, _fuck_ you. Every fucking ti--”

“And real necessity is more indicative of what can only be truly possible in all possible versions of the actual state of reality. It’s not possible for the given thing to be false in any sense of itself, like saying, ‘Dexter Grif is shorter than that very same Dexter Grif.’ It doesn’t make sense.”

Simmons blinked. “What the _fuck_?”

“You should read some David Lewis.”

“Did Grif die and get replaced with a clone? What the hell is this?”

Grif shrugged. “You tell me. You’re still the nerd.”

“I hate you,” said Simmons.

“You love me,” said Grif. He gave Simmons a side-eye then took a breath. Was that weird? It looked weird. But Simmons thought a bunch of things were weird so this probably totally wasn’t except it was.

And then Grif took another massive bite of his burrito. Sauce went all over his face.

“Jesus Chri-- Grif, use a fucking napkin! Come on!”

“Don’ ‘ave one.”

Simmons pursed his lips and spun, eyes eventually landing on some papers on his desk. He didn’t remember seeing that earlier. He snatched them up and began scanning the pages, flipping through them to see rows upon rows of binary. “Ugh,” he said. His quick translations weren’t giving him information. It looked like Spanish, if anything. “I think it’s one of Lopez’s Warthog repair manuals. The binary goes Spanish, I think.” He shook his head and thrust it toward Grif. “Use this as a napkin.”

Grif grabbed the papers with one saucy hand. His eyes scanned over the binary, lingering for several moments. If Simmons didn’t know better, he’d suspect Grif was actually reading it.

Grif crumpled the papers in his grip and gave a tight smile. “Always happy to use Lopez’s shit as napkins.” And then, thankfully, he proceeded to wipe off his face.

“Yeah,” said Simmons. He sighed and began arranging the items on his desk even more neatly than he’d left them. “I just wonder what the hell that was doing on my desk.”

“Yeah,” drawled Grif. “I wonder.”

Simmons side-eyed him as he straightened his stapler. “What’s with that tone?”

“What tone. Besides, maybe it’s like you said,” Grif continued, suddenly looking far less lethargic. “Maybe Lopez is stalking you and trying to recruit you for the robot revolution. He’s debating whether or not to take you on considering you’re half-robot. Maybe he’s planning on killing you, Simmons. Imagine that.”

Shit.

Grif had a point. Why would Lopez ever go in his room? And the papers were sitting right on his fucking desk! Had they been a threat? Fuck, they probably were. Maybe he shouldn’t have given them to Grif to use as a napkin. Shit. _Shit._

“Uh, Simmons? Are you, like… having a panic attack?”

“Shut up!” Simmons squawked, and then he ran out of the room.

\----

It seemed that Lopez would have to go a more direct route.

He found himself mentally scoffing and storming off the moment Simmons suggested using Lopez’s declaration of love as a _napkin_. It was unbelievable. But, alas, it was also a learning moment. Simmons required a different touch, and that touch, it seemed, necessitated being more direct.

He went to the garage, his eternal safe-haven and home where he could truly ponder this. This would require finesse, consideration.

No better time to think than doing an otherwise mindless task: repairing the Warthog Sarge had crashed earlier that morning.

But what could possibly do Simmons justice? The truth was simple: nothing. Nothing would ever be enough to outline the depth of Lopez’s emotions, and even those emotions weren’t enough. Even though they were beyond articulation, Simmons deserved more.

The door slammed open hard enough to hit the wall parallel to it. 

Probably Sarge again. Lopez really wouldn’t appreciate yet another shotgun blast.

_“Lopez!”_

Lopez froze in his place beneath the Warthog. Could it be?

“Lopez, I know you’re in here! Uh, probably! In here!”

If Lopez was capable of breathing, he’d be short of breath. As it were, he just believed there was a minor malfunction in his cerebral-adjacent systems. 

He rolled out from under the Warthog. When he looked up, there he was. His red hair was a dash of fire against icy skin, against sharp metal. He looked like a mechanism of the elements themselves, something beyond control of human or machine.

Simmons was beautiful.

His chin was high as he stared at Lopez, but his eyebrows were twitching. Whatever emotions were flitting through his mind were untranslatable to Lopez, perhaps because of the sheer multitude.

But, at the least, there seemed to be an attempt to be stern, even as he was visibly shaking. “You,” he said, and then he cleared his throat. Lopez opted for patience. Let Simmons emote as he needed. “You,” Simmons repeated, “need to stop fucking-- _stalking_ me and- and- and gaining information on me!”

Okay. This was not going the way Lopez had hoped it would.

“I’m a human!” Simmons continued. “Completely and totally human, which I’m telling you because I refuse to join your- your fucking robot revolution!”

Okay. This was _definitely_ not going the way Lopez had hoped it would.

“I refuse to betray the human race, let alone for you. So whatever you want with humanity, I’m a part of that. Understand? You don’t scare me,” he said, his voice wavering. “You aren’t gonna get anything from me.”

Lopez wasn’t made of glass, truly, but he felt one unfortunate blow from shattering. If only this could be more simple, but these things never were, were they? The struggle for understanding was only a part of the larger battle.

Simmons’ eyes looked frantic now, piercing and studying Lopez in a desperate search for answers. 

This would be easier if Simmons knew Spanish. As it was, this would simply have to be another battle.

Lopez set his shoulders and began walking toward Simmons. Simmons straightened, eyes growing slightly wider with each of Lopez’s steps. Then Lopez stopped, mere inches from the man. Some things transcended language.

Carefully, he put one hand against Simmons’ chest, placed just above where his heart lay underneath. Then, with his remaining hand, he mimicked the gesture against his own chest. His mechanical heart wasn’t in the same location a muscular heart would be, but it was about the sentiment of the gesture.

Simmons looked down at Lopez’s hands. Looked up. Looked down again. “What the fuck,” he stated flatly, and then he turned on his heel and left.

The universe came crashing down upon Lopez.

If he were human, surely he’d have fallen to his knees. But as he were, he stood there, one hand outstretched, grasping for the love that had swiftly swept on by.

Lopez briefly turned off his visual sensors. Perhaps… perhaps this wasn’t meant to be. Love between human and machine was something once beyond the realm of possibility. Even now, humans still perceived robots as inferior, unaware that the opposite was true. Humans certainly didn’t know how fully a robot could love, a love beyond reason that stretched past mere numbers. Because Lopez was more than mere numbers.

If only Simmons could understand. If only he knew what it was like as a robot, one entirely. Maybe then they would connect with more ease. 

But Lopez didn’t want Simmons to change. Simmons, as he was, was already perfect. He shouldn’t have to change for anyone, Lopez included. Even if it would help him understand.

He turned his visuals back on. Or maybe… maybe Lopez was going about this all wrong. He understood Simmons, in a sense. He’d learned a lot before he could talk all those years ago when Simmons would ramble and ramble… they had much in common. Neither of them had a natural, “human” experience; albeit, for different reasons. But Simmons wanted a human experience, and he needed an experience that was obvious.

Well. Lopez did know that Simmons enjoyed movies. Even more than the ones he would talk to Grif about.

Lopez was so used to portraying his gruff, annoyed side. His side that was constantly disappointed by humanity. But he had his other side, a side he had never truly displayed. His romantic side.

So Lopez ran.

He ran after Simmons, after his one true love. This was fate, and it was far from impossible. _They_ were _possible_.

When he caught up to Simmons, everyone was already gathered. Simmons appeared to be approaching Grif, whose attention had already turned to Lopez. He didn’t look happy. He was still a dividing mountain.

Donut’s head was cocked to the side, and he was radiating an aura of polite curiosity, whereas Sarge seemed happy to no longer be conversing with Donut. “What in the Sam Hill’s got you running, Lopez?” he demanded.

It would fit human romanticism if he was out of breath. But he was no human. This robodity, nevertheless, could still prevail beside humanity.

“Simmons,” said Lopez, and Simmons turned around, looking bewildered. “Quítate el abrigo.”

Grif’s jaw was working.

“Lopez says to take off your coat,” said Donut, eyes beginning to twinkle as he flitted his gaze between them.

Simmons scowled. Then, with pointed frustration, he whipped it off behind him and threw it to the ground. “Happy?” he said.

Lopez could see Simmons’ arm now. A metal that binded them, allowed for a connection Lopez may otherwise never have seen. It was all at once new and familiar, a powerful gesture that rippled beyond that apparent anger. “Sí,” said Lopez, stepping closer. “Porque tú, Simmons, me haces feliz.”

Donut cleared his throat, sparing a quick glance toward Grif. “If I may-- I’d be happy to transla--”

“Get on with it!” Sarge said, prodding Donut forward with his shotgun.

Donut, with a flourish, slid into step not far from Lopez. “Yes,” he said, his inflection as dramatic as Lopez, for once, quite desired, “because you, Simmons, make me happy.”

Simmons’ head reared back minutely. “I-- what?”

“Ya no puedo ocultar cómo me siento. Querido, querido, Simmons. Eres mi mundo, mi luz, mi todo. Antes de conocerte, de conocerte de verdad, solo estaba lleno de odio. Admito que todavía me queda mucho odio, pero de alguna manera me has suavizado, moldeado en un robot más capaz de empatía y afecto incluso para aquellos que no son como yo.”

Grif scoffed. “Oh, come on, you--”

Donut quickly cut him off with a voice like a violin, “I cannot hide how I feel any longer. Dear, darling, Simmons. You are my world, my light, my everything. Before I got to know you, truly got to know you, I was full only of hatred. I will admit that I still have much hate remaining, but you have somehow softened, molded me into a robot more capable of empathy and affection for even those who are unlike me.”

It was a tad suspicious just how well Donut was translating all this, but now was certainly not the time to complain. Instead, Lopez watched Simmons’ face morph as Donut spoke, shock turning to confusion to disbelief. He kept looking suspiciously at Lopez, as though he believed Donut were mistranslating or, perhaps, Lopez himself was tricking him.

“Ricardo Simmons,” said Lopez, and he made a small head movement to the side, looking for something, though he didn’t know what. Donut cleared his throat, and then something was placed surreptitiously in his palm. “Te amo.”

“ _Ricardo_ Simmons,” Donut stated gleefully, “I love you.”

Simmons’ face flushed. “Holy shit. You’re being serious.”

Completely.

Lopez brandished the object Donut had given him, revealing a rose, and bowed down slightly, one leg forward. 

“I--! Um, th- thank you, I guess, um…” Simmons gently grabbed the rose and glanced around, looking flustered. 

Lopez was getting through to him. He was doing this right, already winning Simmons over simply by being genuine. He had to keep going, keep using this momentum to move forward. 

Lopez took a dramatic step forward, ignoring Donut’s gasp from behind, and placed his palm against Simmons’ free hand, the mechanical one. Perhaps on instinct -- or, perhaps by destiny -- Simmons curled his fingers into Lopez’s grip. “Vamos a bailar,” Lopez said.

“‘To dance’?” Simmons squawked in confusion, but Lopez was already pulling him in. In a quick motion, Simmons placed the stem of the rose in his teeth and allowed Lopez to take his other hand and pull him against his chest. “Nnh?” Simmons said around the rose.

One robot and one cyborg. It would be a love story for the ages.

Lopez started playing “La Cumparsita” through his speakers.

“ _Oh my_ ,” Sarge rumbled softly in the background just as Grif muttered, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

They began to dance. It was a classic tango, the fluidity beyond what Lopez thought possible of himself as he led Simmons step-by-step. For a soldier who seemed so naturally clumsy, his footing was flawless, and they stepped in perfect sync with one another as the beat danced on. This was all that mattered, and all thought of everything beyond him and _Simmons_ faded to black. They were dancing, Simmons remaining close to his chest, trusting him, letting himself be guided and moved in time with the robot, taking in the heat of radiation and emotion all at once. Lopez certainly didn’t miss when Simmons began to smile; a small, shy thing that slowly grew until he was laughing and shaking his head as he swayed his hips in time with the music with oddly sensual ease. Lopez couldn’t reciprocate the emotions physically, but his heart was full with an unstoppable passion that he was sure Simmons could feel, even if he couldn’t see it.

As the music began reaching its end, Lopez seamlessly spun Simmons under his arm and, in that tangle of sensation and instinct, brought him to a final dip. Simmons’ hands released from their hold and went to Lopez’s breastplate and around his neck, leaving him entirely under Lopez’s control.

Simmons’ breaths were coming out heavy, and he spat out the rose to take a deeper breath. Sweat was beading his forehead. “Uh,” he said. “So I guess this wasn’t about the robot revolution.”

The background began to return to focus. Lopez could hear Sarge weeping softly. Donut was clapping. Grif’s lips were pursed, and his hands were clenched by his sides, but he remained silent.

There was only one thing left to do. One more thing to tie this whole moment together.

Lopez slammed his helmet against Simmons’ face in a suitably dramatic kiss.

Simmons sighed as he walked out of the Blue Base, a pack of ice pressed against his face -- apparently, Sarge decided ice was unnecessary at the Red Base, and Caboose had been happy to get some for him. Getting headbutted in what Donut frantically explained was an attempt at a kiss was not how he expected this day to go. Neither was getting a love confession from fucking Lopez, but apparently life was full of surprises. At least recently.

But hearing all those words… He’d been skeptical. Donut was full of shit even though everyone loved him, and if his innuendos were any indication, he had a propensity toward finding something suspect in everything he heard or said.

But then Lopez had given him the rose.

And then they danced.

Simmons… felt… a lot of things, in those moments. A strange, intimate connection with someone he’d never seen coming. Beyond the confines of language, it was as if Lopez understood something about him that he hadn’t understood himself.

Above all other things, it was fucking weird. Just below was this fact: it had been very, very nice.

After everything Lopez had said, Simmons certainly had much to consider. Maybe he could actually learn Spanish. Maybe he could install a translator into his auditory system. Maybe they could make this work out in other ways.

Oh, holy shit. He was actually considering this. Was that weird? Fuck, he couldn’t stop questioning himself today. But Lopez had meant it. And Simmons felt something among all that.

Maybe this really was a possibility.

Holy fucking shit.

“You look lovely today, did you have maintenance?” 

Simmons froze before turning a bewildered expression toward Sheila. Her gun was facing him, albeit, off-center as though she was tilting her head. “Are all the robots malfunctioning today?” he said.

_El Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> thank u bits for the ending i'm gonna go now i think it's for the be


End file.
